Hymns Upon Your Lips
by colourmebeautiful
Summary: The essay inspires many feelings within Moritz, none of which he understands and all of which will contribute to his downfall. Moritz/Melchior
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Set after/during Touch Me.**

The chair seemed to disappear underneath him – for a moment, he was sitting on pure, undiluted happiness. Melchior, so close to him that he could feel the flutter of his breath on his neck, his cool hands over his own clammy and nervous ones. He helped him move his hands over his body, and Moritz struggled to breath, his mouth falling open. Oh – oh, heaven must be like this – a strange kind of perfection, one so torturous that it could not possibly be real.

Of course, his reaction to Melchior's close proximity inevitably caused him to question the thoughts and feelings that it inspired. Melchior had been that close to him like this so many times – helping him with Latin, when they had sleepovers in his hayloft in summer, somehow waking up sleeping face to face, arms slung around each other – but this feeling was something new, foreign to him. The way his heart quickened and thudded against his chest, the strange fluttering feeling in his stomach, it was unlike anything he'd had the fortune to experience. The way when he inhaled, he could smell the soft, clean scent of Melchior's skin, and the way that mere action was enough to send fire through shooting through his body.

Melchior moved his arm away slowly, reaching for the essay, and Moritz almost whimpered at the loss of contact. He flicked his eyes towards Melchior, who was holding out the essay to him. Moritz nodded shakily, and took the paper with trembling hands.

Oh, it was too overwhelming, all of it – he had to get out of there, away from him, away from these confused feelings swamping his mind.

"_I have to go!"_

--

That night, he lay in bed, unable to sleep. It was, thankfully, a Saturday night, so there was no risk of falling asleep at school the next day, which comforted him a little. He was exhausted, and lay under his thin covers fully dressed, shoes half off his feet. His mind was filled with thoughts of Melchior – how deeply his touch had affected him, and he was growing painfully aware that it was not only his mind that was thinking about Melchior. He rolled over, trying to ignore the fire slowly building within him.

He'd had these feelings before – the leg's climbing over the podium had both inspired and terrified – but never about a real person. To feel this way about Melchior, his best friend, a _boy _– surely it was unnatural? He jumped out of bed and nervously walked over to his dresser, trying to ignore the pressing he felt against his trousers, and scrambled for the essay. He hurriedly read it in its entirety, searching for any mention of love between two members of the same sex. There was nothing – all the pages simply spoke of what occurred when a man and a woman were...intimate with each other. Just thinking about it made Moritz grow hot and clammy, and he climbed back into bed, essay in hand.

The essay told Moritz that it was natural to feel this way – in fact, that it was only to be expected – which reassured him. But what confused Moritz more than anything was that Melchior only wrote and spoke of love between a man and a woman. So surely, these feelings were wrong? Melchior said he had discussed everything within the essay, so if nothing was omitted – if Melchior didn't acknowledge it, did that mean the way Moritz felt was wrong? Abnormal? Unnatural? Sinful?

Moritz's thoughts turned to his schoolmates – did any of them feel like this? He'd overheard Otto and Georg discussing women many times – Fraulein Grossenbustenhalter and Marriana Wheelen were popular topics. He'd seen the glint in Melchior's eye whenever he saw Wendla walk by. But then he thought of Hanschen. The way he stared at Ernst in Latin. The way his eyes never left Bobby Mailer when they showered after gymnastics. Now he thought about it, the look in Hanschen's eyes reminded Moritz of the stray dogs that lingered around the town – hungry, desperate, savage. Is that what Moritz was like too?

No. No, he wouldn't – couldn't be like Hanschen.

He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and get some desperately needed sleep. Mercifully, he slipped into the familiar abyss that sleep offered. However, the supposed peaceful retreat did not come - his dreams were haunted yet again. Tonight, there were no grossly abstract images of stocking clad legs – the images he dreamt about on this particular night terrified Moritz much more than giant legs ever could.

"_Moritz?" Melchior stared at him. Moritz looked around; he was in Melchior's room, as he had been so many times before. But now, things felt – different. Something new was in the air. It was sunset, a pale red light filling the room, flickering on Melchior's face. Moritz felt himself gulp slightly. "What are you doing here, Moritz?"_

"_I-I don't know, I should-should go.." He stumbled backwards, but Melchior jumped up and grabbed his hand, stopping him. _

"_No. I'm glad you're here." He smiled, and Moritz sighed slightly. Melchior's smile widened. "Come sit with me." He walked backwards towards his bed, his hand never letting go, his eyes staring intently at his prey. Moritz stuttered a little, not sure what to say, but allowed himself to be lead to the bed, sitting on the edge awkwardly. Melchior still held on to his hand, and moved his fingers so they intertwined with Moritz's. Moritz turned his head to stare at him, to ask him what he was doing, but as soon as he opened his mouth Melchior placed his lips on his. Moritz went to pull away, but something inside of him snapped, and he kissed Melchior back, fierce and eager, tangling his fingers in that divine mop of curls._

_It felt so wrong, yet somehow so natural and right, when they fell back onto the bed, hands everywhere, scrambling at belt buckles, fumbling with shirt buttons, pressing heads closer together, running over naked chests, each movement full of passion and lust, each breath coming in laboured pants. Suddenly, the pace slowed a little, the kisses became less desperate and more loving, tender, as Melchior moved his hand lower, lower, until Moritz yelped with surprise, pulling back for a moment. Melchior looked at him, puzzled._

"_What's wrong?" He smirked a little, and gradually his face began to change, until the dark mess of curls became slick and bright blonde, the soft features became hard and smug. Melchior turned into Hanschen, and Moritz screamed._

He sat up in bed, panting and sweaty,his eyes darting around the room. He was in his room, still fully dressed. He struggled to calm down, and to ignore the painful pressure he felt against his trousers. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breath slowing now, but still rushed and uneasy. No, he wasn't like Hanschen. He was different, he wasn't- he didn't-.

His eyes closed by themselves, and he fell into a restless, but mercifully dreamless, sleep.

--

The next morning, as he washed his face ready to go to church, he tried to ignore the dream that still remained in his mind. It was so clear, it felt so real he could almost feel Melchior's hair under his fingers. But then, the ending – Hanschen. Moritz gulped, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked the same as he did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that..

His chin was still as angular and pointy as ever, his ears still stuck out at odd angles, his eyes were still tired and anxious, his hair was still impossible to tame. Yes, he looked the same – but something inside had changed. He needed to speak to someone. But who could he talk to, who would understand these..feelings, these desires?

A bohemian, perhaps.

**A/N: Don't forget to review! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just to let you know, I've only ever seen the London cast. Therefore, in my head, Moritz is Iwan Rheon who has quite a distinctive voice, so I'm really sorry if what he says translates wrong with the Moritz in your head. Ditto Ilse. I try to not assign actors to my fanfic, as I find it really annoying when people are like "imagine Idina Menzel" (obv for Wicked, not here..that'd just be bizzarre), but that's just who my Moritz is. And trust me, for the time he was on stage, Iwan Rheon was Moritz. He was just outstandingly beautiful. Anyway, I'll stop fangirling and give you chapter two! Hope you enjoy, I had quite a bit of trouble with this chapter, so I hope you like it :) A review would be lovely. Hope you're all well.**

--

There had always been a strict routine to the Stiefel's Sundays; first, Church, where they would pray condescendingly for those less fortunate than themselves. Then, in the afternoons, Frau Stiefel would constantly be occupied by doing good, never noticing that her help may be needed by her own son. Herr Stiefel would spend his Sunday hunting with his colleagues from the bank, and Moritz would spend his Sunday pouring hopelessly over his schoolwork. Occasionally, he would spend his Sundays with Melchior, either studying or running through fields, enjoying a temporary return to childhood. But he had not spent a Sunday with Melchior since summer had ended, the peaceful, sun drenched bliss giving way to this constant drkness and uncertainty within Moritz's mind.

The family marched off dutifully to Church, pressed and presentable, although Moritz's hair was still utterly impossible to flatten, and lay at random angles stubbornly, despite Moritz's heartfelt effort to subdue it with water. The sermon was as dull and uninspiring as ever – warning of the dangers of lust and evils of the modern world. Moritz looked around him, at the other children of the village that sat in the old wooden pews. The boys sat behind him, and so he focused on the girls. The girls who he used to see everyday, by the lake or at each others houses for afternoon tea. But now, he rarely saw them, and he felt like they were another species. Wendla was in the pew infront of him, staring at her hands. She was still so delicate, but was somehow so changed from the little Pirate Queen he knew when he was younger. Next to her was Anna, who was staring straight at the front, but Moritz knew if he could see her eyes, they would be glazed with boredom. Thea sat in the pew next to his, fiddling with her plaits and obviously not listening. Across the room, he saw Martha. Poor Martha, her father was one of the most terrifying men Moritz had ever met. Herr Bessell had once caught him in his orchard, stealing apples. He could still remember the force of his belt across his back, then the pain and the blood, though he must have been only eight or nine when it happened.

--

After church, there was Sunday school, but Moritz managed to leave, telling the teacher, a slightly simple spinster woman from the village, that he didn't feel well. After checking to see nobody was following him, he started on the road that lead out of the village. He had no real idea where he was going, but he'd heard the girls' whispering that they had seen Ilse on this road, wondering among the wildflowers. It was a shot in the dark, yet one he was willing to take, for a reason unknown even to himself. He hadn't seen her since they were children, and now her name was a taboo – but he missed her. Her fiery attitude, her warm smile, her bewitching eyes, the way she held his hand when they were playing pirates, clinging onto him like he was the only one who could save her.

He walked for what seemed like hours, the autumn sun still shining bright overhead, not sure where he was going or what he would do when he got there. Then he saw her – flame hair cropped close to her chin, laughing to herself, her ankles tangled round a branch, dangling upside down like one of those monkeys you read about in stories. She lifted her head at the sound of footsteps, and smiled happily.

"Moritz!" She cried out, swinging down gently, running towards him. She clasped him in a tight hug, clinging to him desperately. Moritz stood there, paralyzed by the shock of this unexpected contact, and finally patted her back hesitantly.

"Ilse. I was hoping I would find you here." Ilse smiled at him, and grabbed his hand.

"Come, sit with me in my den." Her eyes were a little too wide, he noticed, her hair unkempt and wild, her voice slightly shrill. She saw his hesitance, and stared at him. "Please." She sounded so pitiful, he allowed himself to be pulled along, until they came to a hedge. She crawled underneath, and motioned for him to follow. The hedge was hollow inside, and Moritz looked around, bewildered. Ilse looked thrilled at his confusion. "How can I help you?"

"Ilse, what is this place? I thought you were living.."

"In Priapia, yes. But I like to move around a little. Life's boring if you stay in one place, Moritz." Moritz nodded, but couldn't relate to what she was saying. "I like it here. It's close to home." So Moritz can't have been walking too long, then. The confusion must have prolonged the journey somewhat. "Sometimes I see the girls, walking and laughing. They think I'm mad." She leant closer to him, her eyes glistening slightly. Moritz shuffled back, gulping. "Do you think I'm mad?"

He stammered slightly, unsure what he should say. Truly, he didn't think she was mad – although he had heard his parents discussing her, and they certainly did. But, to Moritz, she wasn't mad, she was the sanest person he had ever met – she was free, free of adults, free of their preconceptions and restrictions. She was happy, truly happy, almost like when she was a child. He admired her, to an extent. He shook is head no, but looked around him. You have to question the sanity of someone who calls the inside of a hedge a home.

She stared at him. "Anyway, you wanted something?" Her tone was more distant now, and Moritz felt guilty.

"I need..I need to ask you something. And I thought I could ask you, because you're..you're not like the village people, you're a-a bohemian, you have more relaxed ideas, more informed ideas, and the bible says its wrong, but I don't know, how can it be wrong when it makes you _feel_ like this, this strangely magical sensation –" His words were clumsy and confused, and Ilse rolled her eyes, laughing slightly.

"Moritz, you're babbling. Just like you always have." She took his hand and smiled at him. Moritz tried to relax, and found himself smiling at the bits of shrub that rested in her red hair. "Ask me what you want to know. Quick, precise, to the point – don't babble."

"Is – I mean, should – is.."

"Moritz..." she said warningly, and Moritz gulped.

"Isitwrongtoloveaman?" He finally said in a rush, the words tripping over themselves in a confused heap. Ilse sat back, as if thinking about the question.

"I don't know. Truly, the bible tells us it is. But, at Priapia, men love women, men love men, women love women. We believe – love is love." Moritz was as confused as ever, and Ilse sighed. "Moritz, the society you live in, they think it's wrong. But listen to your heart. One day, maybe, it could change. But you need to understand – in places like home, it won't be easy. Remember poor Herr Renolph?" Moritz nodded; surely there wasn't a person in the village who did not remember the fate of Herr Renolph. Strung up in the street for being found with another man.

"Why do you ask?" She cocked her head to the side. "Moritz, have you had feelings for-"

"N-no." He cut her off, and scrabbled out of the hedge. "I have to-g-go, to get home, I told Fraulein Habitlien I was sick, she'll ask after me, I have to-" He began to run.

"Moritz! Moritz, please, just come back!" Ilse called after him, the words sticking in her throat.

But he was gone.

--

He ran back down the path leading to the village, not stopping to think, just wanting to run, to escape all the complications that he found himself in. He was running so fast that all he could see were blurs, his eyes too full of tears to focus on anything. Maybe that's why, when he was about five minutes away from home, he crashed into another person, knocking both of them flat

"Honestly, will you watch where you're going?!" The voice was harsh, and Moritz looked up, expecting to see an adult. Instead, the tall, imposing form of Hanschen greeted him. Moritz scrabbled to his feet, and offered Hanschen a hand, more out of fear than any real courtesy. Hanschen rolled his eyes and accepted it grudgingly, hoisitng himself up. "Why were you running like that anyway? And where were you in Sunday School anyway? I thought you were ill." Moritz was slightly startled; Hanschen had not spoken to him this much in the last 2 years, yet he was suddenly full of apparent intrest.

"I went for a walk, to c-clear my h-head." Hanschen raised an eyebrow.

"You've got shrub in your hair." He stated in a bored voice. "Visiting Ilse in her hedge?" Moritz stuttured, and Hanschen sighed. "Oh relax, I'm not about to tell the adults she's there. I was walking by a few days ago and saw her hanging from that tree of hers. She showed me her home in the hedge." He laughed, and Moritz winced slightly. "She's quite the little homemaker."

"Well, y-yes, she's had a d-difficult time. I really must go, M-mother will be worried."

"Mm, I suppose she will be. It's nearly two you know; time for the mothers' weekly tea and gossip session. Goodbye Moritz." And he contiuned walking up the path, leaving Moritz staring blankly after him.


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks passed slowly, and Moritz had learned to put his doubts and worries about the feelings he was suffering to the back of his mind, as his worries about the state of his educational life consumed him.

"Herr Steifel, I trust you are aware that middle terms commence in little under a week?" Moritz merely nodded, too petrified to properly converse with his teacher, Herr Sonnenstitch. The man towered above him, glaring over his moustache. "Have you begun your studies to prepare for the examination?"

"Y-yes, Herr Sonnenstitch. I have been studying late every night." Moritz was unsure, but he could have almost sworn that the man looked disappointed at this news.

"Very well," he smiled, and Moritz felt the fear rise in the pit of his stomach "We shall see. You are dismissed." He walked over to the door, and held it open grimly. Moritz ran out of the room as quickly as was acceptable, and carried on running in desperation to leave the schoolhouse. In his haste, he ran into Melchior, who was standing at the end of the corridor leading to door. Moritz knocked Melchior off his feet, and landed heavily on top of him. They both stared at each other in shock, Melchior's breath coming in pants. Moritz felt like a rabbit cornered by a hunter, too scared to move, but knowing it would end in pain if he didn't.

"Oh, Melchi, I'm sorry!" He shifted off him, rolling onto the floor next to him. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Melchior sat up, dusting himself down. He got to his feet and offered Moritz a hand to pull him up. When they were eye to eye, Melchior spoke again. "I haven't seen you properly in almost two weeks. What have you been doing?"

"Studying, Melchi. If I d-don't pass the middle terms, I don't know what will happen." Melchior nodded, though he seemed distracted.

"I've missed you is all, Moritz. Why don't you ask your parents if you can stay at my house on Friday? My parents are away to Berlin for the night at a wedding, I'm sure they would be – comforted, shall we say – to know I wasn't alone in the house." Moritz nodded, and promised he would ask his parents.

--

"Moritz, darling, is that you?" His mother bustled into the hall, flour smeared over her apron. "The Gabor's have asked if you'd be able to stay with Melchior on Friday night. He is apparently reluctant to go with them, and they don't want to leave the house unattended, not with those gypsies from Priapia hanging around town." Moritz nodded. "Moritz? Are you feeling quite well?" She lifted his head as if she was inspecting an apple she had been given. "You look tired. What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Studying, Mama. Middle terms start soon."

"Oh yes. Well. Try your hardest, dear. You know what your father's like." Her jaw tensed. "Perhaps Melchior will help you with your studies; he is such a good student." Moritz nodded.

"May I go to my room Mama? I have homework."

"Yes, yes, go. Your father will be home late tonight, so it will just be the two of us for dinner."

"Yes, Mama."

--

Friday came around quickly, although Moritz was sure he had never felt so exhausted. Some nights had passed with no sleep, not only from his heavy and pressured work load, but because, much to his despair, the dreams had returned, more explicit and haunting than ever. The dreams confused him more than any Latin ever had done.

"And then you subtract the – Moritz, are you listening?" Moritz had managed to tune out Melchior's instructions, however foolish that might be. "Moritz, what's the matter?" He thought for a moment. "Dreams again?" Moritz blushed, and Melchior smiled. "Moritz, it was all explained in the essay, its nothing to worry abo-"

"But-but what if the d-dream was abo-abo-about a.." Melchior sighed, getting weary of his best friends constant uncertainty.

"About what?" Moritz took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"A-another b-boy."

"Moritz, just because I didn't mention it in the essay..it doesn't mean.." He blinked for a moment, as if he was trying to work out the best response. "It happens. Our society rejects it and condemns it as unnatural, but surely love, if such a thing exists, is the most natural thing in the world?" Moritz looked unconvinced. "And besides, curiosity is a natural human instinct. We can have thoughts and feelings without having to act upon them." Moritz nodded, still unsure. "Moritz, just because you have these dreams doesn't mean you're.."

"A homosexual?" Melchior nodded.

"It's all about balance between what you subconsciously desire, and what you really want."

"But..but, what if- I mean, surely it's-it's possible to have these feelings and to truly want it? Hanschen? Ernst?" Melchior snorted.

"Hanschen is a pervert. I've seen the way he leers at Bobby. And Ernst-well. I'm not quite sure what to make of him."

"So, just feeling this way is-is-"

"Natural. Moritz, everyone has doubts, I myself-"

"You?"

"When you're constantly surrounded by boys, Moritz, and never talk to girls, sometimes you doubt, you wonder. But that's all it is. Don't let it- upset you, Ritzy." Moritz smiled; Melchi hadn't called him that for years. "I worry about you sometimes, you know. Ever since school started, you've been so tired all the time, so anxious."

"I should really be going-"

"You're staying the night here."

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course. What time is it?"

"A little after 10. Can we go to bed soon?" He stood up from his chair in a hurry, walking over to the door. "I'm just going to brush my teeth-" He tripped over a loose edge of the carpet, and tripped, falling onto his chest. "Oh God."

"Moritz are you alrigh-"

"No I'm not alright! I just fell over, making an utter idiot of myself, I'm studying for exams I'm going to fail for sure, and I'm having feelings about my best friend that I couldn't even begin to understand and I can never act upon them because it's against the law, I'll be outcast, lynched and labled a monster by my father." He rushed out, unable to hold it back anymore. He gasped, shocked by his own words. "Oh, oh Melchi, I didn't – I don't – I mean.."


End file.
